Live and Die
by blaineywainey
Summary: No one expects Blaine to win the 24th Hunger Games, including Blaine himself. But soon Blaine will learn that there are greater things worth living for than his own life... A Hunger Games/Glee crossover.
1. Propter vivendi causas

So I've put off working on this for too long, but here it is: my Hunger Games/Glee crossover. I know everyone is starting to write these but I've intentionally not read any of them; this is my own story and I thought of my plot before anyone jumped on this bandwagon. (I know, I'm such a hipster.)

**Warning:** Kurt and Blaine are both tributes and these Games take place way before Katniss and Peeta's. Which means that there is only one winner, and while there is definitely Klaine, this plot does not allow for a happy ending. But this doesn't mean it won't be a satisfying ending, so I hope that you'll stick around. This project is going to be one of epic, multichapter proportions and you won't be sorry.

Much thanks to my bestie, flirtykurty, who helps me with plot bunnies, head!canons, and betaing. Title taken from "Animal" by Ke$ha.

So with that being said, read, review, and enjoy!

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><p>Blaine's palms are sweating.<p>

He knows they don't have a reason to. His family is one of the wealthiest in all of District 5, and even if he had to take out tesserae for his family like the less fortunate, the fact that it's his last year of eligibility, and his father's position as mayor would probably be cause to rig it so that Blaine has pretty much zero chance of being picked.

Well, that's what Blaine tells himself to keep his palms from sweating.

Poor frail, dainty, oh-so-OCD Emma Pillsbury's hand is taking forever in that flurry of papers, even longer than it should since she's trying to avoid touching as many of them as possible. Finally, two spring green-painted fingernails snatch a small strip of parchment and pull it out of the glass.

Time slows down momentarily as the paper is unfolded, and Blaine becomes hyper-aware of everything around him. His mother's frigid, bracing hand on his shoulder. His father's gaze from where he stands beside Emma on the stage of the Justice Building. The way the tag of his crisp olive button-down scratches at the back of his neck, the way their female tribute, Tina Cohen-Chang, trembles just slightly under everyone's eyes, the waves of paralyzing fear emanating from every single person in his immediate vicinity. Adrenaline is coursing through Blaine's veins, pumping terror freely throughout his entire body...

Until time speeds up to normal and Emma Pillsbury is calling out the name of the 24th Annual Hunger Game's male tribute for everyone to hear.

"Blaine Anderson!"

He can practically hear his father's internal, screaming horror, his mother's despair, his peers' pity as his legs walk him through the easily parting crowd. He treads up the stairs and all he can think to feel is embarrassed at how well he's dressed for such a savage occasion.

The crowd is clapping, Tina is reaching for his hand, his face is sporting a shaky smile but Blaine has tuned it all out.

He knows he's already dead.

* * *

><p>The train is ornate, with plush red carpets lining the compartment halls and crystal chandeliers throwing light in bright rainbows across the walls. It's nothing Blaine isn't used to; he's been on precisely eighteen train rides to the Capital, once for every year his father is required to attend the annual Power District Convention. Blaine used to wonder why he couldn't just stay home with his mother, but he understands better now; his father wanted to show off his trophy wife and perfect son. He's lucky that he doesn't have to worry about the initial part of The Games; He's used to being shown off.<p>

Well, after the next few weeks he won't have to worry about that anymore.

His parents are not under the same impression.

"Make us proud, son," said his father in a bracing voice.

"Come home safe, dear," said his mother airily.

He wonders if this is a typical goodbye for most tributes. It's probably because he's never felt particularly close to his parents, because he had glanced a few feet over and spotted Tina grasping onto her fiancé, Mike, for dear life, her parents at either side with tears streaming silently down their cheeks.

Blaine had looked away quickly. The scene made him uncomfortable in a way he didn't quite understand.

And now he's being led down the hall of the fanciest compartment yet, being separated from Tina as they are ushered into bedchambers across the way and down the hall from each other. He feels he's more reluctant to let go of her hand than she is of his; it's like she's the only connection he has to what he once knew.

The room is grand, with a plush maroon carpet and a golden down comforter on the bed. The bathroom is enormous, with knobs and dials in the shower even Blaine didn't have in his privileged household. Emma tells him quietly that they will eat dinner in an hour while they watch the replay of the District reapings, and shuts the door silently behind her.

The room is eerily quiet. Blaine figures it's because he hasn't had a time on his own for at least six hours.

He slowly makes his way over to the plush bed, leaving footprints in the thick carpet in his wake. He sits down, leans his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

Blaine can't wrap his head around it. He knows he should be scared and nervous and god damn terrified out of his wits, but all his numb mind can think of is what a scandal this will cause for his family: Head of District 5's Son Sent off to Slaughter. Of course, it would never be advertised like that because being chosen to be tribute in the Games is an _honor,_ the _highest_ honor but everyone knows the truth. No one in the world would have guessed Everett Anderson's own _son_, who everyone presumed to be the successor to the position of head of the District, would be marched off to his death. All anyone in District 5 will be wondering is just how much does power matter in the system? Could it be true that really no one is safe anymore? And all of it, all of the doubts, because of Blaine. The mayor's son.

Maybe the reason why this is the only thing Blaine can bring himself to think about is because that's the way he's been trained to think. Or maybe he knows that it's all his own parents will be thinking about. Losing a son? A trivial notion, compared to keeping up appearances to the public. As far as appearances are concerned, Everett and Marie Anderson are proud of their son for being selected to partake in such a momentous occasion.

The sad part is, Blaine's pretty sure his parents have convinced themselves that's the way they actually feel inside.

And so now Blaine realizes why he's maybe alright with dying. It's because no one is going to miss him.

Blaine wrenches himself from the bed and strips off his clothes robotically, heading for the shower. After drenching himself in minimal amounts of scents of bubbles and soaps, he dries off with a fluffy white terrycloth towel and wraps it around his waist for the trip over to the small but fruitful closet. With his mother's fashion instincts naturally kicking in, he automatically selects a casual white button-down and khaki slacks that make his eyes pop, plus a pair of shiny brown penny loafers. He finds a bottle of hair gel in the cupboard above the sink and, out of habit, cakes his hair down into it's usual neat and orderly part, just a few curls at the hairline breaking free.

He peeks out into the hallway, relieved to see that Tina is just emerging as well because now he won't have to find the dining compartment alone.

It's obvious she's been crying, despite the amount of makeup she's applied in an attempt to cover it up.

"R-r-ready to go?" she asks softly.

He looks her up and down, desperate for anything to steal the tremor away from her bottom lip. "Your dress is lovely," he tries.

She looks down, surprised, at the simple navy frock. "Thanks," she says, tone a bit brighter. She smiles at him, and he smiles back. Blaine hopes that they can be friends, at least for now.

At least until they're set free in a closed arena to kill each other.

"Come on," Tina says, hooking her fingers in his.

The dining compartment is near the front and decorated in the same manner as the rest of the train. Their party isn't big but Blaine and Tina are the last ones to arrive; Emma is already seated at the head of the table and District 5's only previous victor of the Games, April Rhodes, is to her left. April looks as though she was too impatient to wait for the other half of the party; she's already halfway into her second pre-dinner cocktail. Emma looks on in slight discomfort as April hiccups and twiddles her fingers in Blaine and Tina's direction.

Blaine isn't quite sure exactly how April Rhodes managed to win the 15th Hunger Games. It must not have been a standout round since it's not featured in the regular replays of famous Games, but he has to admit that he's curious as to how such a slovenly and not-all-there woman could beat out twenty-three other bloodthirsty tributes. Quite frankly, the only thing April seems to be thirsty for was alcohol.

"Hey kids," Emma says in an attempt to be cheerful. Blaine and Tina smile half-heartedly in return, and as if on cue a young Avox girl brings in several platters of food.

Blaine loads a modest amount of lamb stew, rice, potatoes, and steamed vegetables onto his place. This sort of meal is a typical one in his household, but looking over at Tina's wide-as-saucers eyes he can guess that the same cannot be said for her home.

"So my little chick-a-dees," April says, getting straight to the point in her tipsy twang. "How do you plan on getting out alive?"

_I don't,_ Blaine thinks.

"Now now, April," Emma says in a nervous trill. "Let's not jump the gun here. There will be plenty of time to talk strategy in the next few days."

April shrugs good-naturedly but says nothing else. Blaine daintily forks some lamb into his mouth and steals a glance at Tina, who is all but shoveling food into her mouth. It's a relief it all gets into her mouth and not on her pristine dress.

Dinner passes by in mostly tense silence, the only interruptions being April cracking a drunken one-liner every now and then, but no one has the heart to even comment. Blaine is relieved when the Avox girl takes away their Tirimasu plates.

"Well it's about seven, let's venture to the television room, shall we?" Emma says softly, and the group ventures out of the dining compartment down the hall to a small living room with plush furniture and a big-screen television.

Blaine and Tina share the loveseat in the center of the room, April hits half of the lights and Emma switches on the TV before they take the chaises bordering the couch.

The replay begins with the Panem's national anthem with a short speech from President Sylvester. Blaine knows his father has met the President many times but Blaine himself has never had the "pleasure" to. If he's being honest with himself, Sue Sylvester gives Blaine the downright heeby-jeebies. She's the one who proposed the Hunger Games in the first place, and Blaine is positive that the only reason no one opposed was because they were more afraid of Sylvester's wrath than the monstrous idea of the Games themselves. And considering just how monstrous they were, that was saying something.

After the President's short and patriotic speech, every word of which Blaine believes Sylvester does not mean, the official replays of the District reapings begin, starting with District 12 and counting down.

The program starts with a bang, recounting a scandalous story of how the twelve-year-old female tribute's big brother volunteers to be her male counterpart. The Capital's commentary spins it so it appears that the brother, Noah Puckerman, volunteered to double the family's chances of winning. But looking closely at the tears in Noah's eyes, Blaine figures it's more to protect his little sister than anything else.

District 11's tributes strike Blaine as two average Jane and John Doe's, except Jane Doe (actually named Brittany, he notes) is either a little slow or simply stereotypically ditzy and her John Doe, Nick, has nice hair and a big smile that crinkles his eyes. Mercedes and Jeff are selected for District 10, the lanky blonde looking fragile in comparison to his big, dark, beautiful partner. This pattern continues in District 9, where small and meek Rory cowers behind a terrifying-looking Lauren.

Blaine watches the people, these tribute's faces, with a blank numbness that can only be described as indifferent. He's already sealed his fate, so as far as he's concerned the only sense in memorizing names to identities would be to guess who's most likely to kill him off and who would do it quickly as opposed to dragging it out. It doesn't take a lot of brainpower to figure out; people like Rory and Nick seem too nice to be the offensive type, Puck will only be looking out for his sister, and Lauren would probably throttle him if she got the chance.

He's imagining just how long it would take to suffocate under Lauren's clenched fist when the television volume suddenly brings him back to attention.

"I volunteer!"

The proclamation comes from a gigantic young man in the crowd, his blue tee-shirt ill-fitting and his brown hair sticking out here and there. His face looks a bit dopey but the determination in his eyes is fierce.

"No he does not," rings out a clear voice.

The camera pans back, past disconcerted Peacekeepers to the stage where a slender, angelic form stands strong, porcelain chin held high. His white button-down is rumpled but tucked in neatly to his worn-out and faded skinnier-than skinny jeans, and his black boots are scuffed. One boot is half-way to climbing up on stage, but he's looking back at the young man in the crowd with a commanding ferocity. His icy blue eyes pierce the camera, even if he is not looking directly into it.

Blaine's numbness had defrosted, completely and immediately.

He lurches forward just slightly as the camera cuts back to the Peacekeepers, reacting at the loss of that perfect vision of a man. The Peacekeepers are looking from the large man in the crowd to the slender one clambering up on the stage.

"I- but- Kurt?" says the man in the crowd, looking disconcertingly like a hurt puppy.

"No, Finn," Kurt hisses. "Please excuse my step-brother," he says out loud, commanding the attention of the Peacekeepers, "He often speaks before he thinks. I accept my position as male tribute to District 8."

The camera switches one last time to Finn, who is being held on either side by a balding man in a cap with tears welling in his eyes and a plump, kind-looking woman who is sobbing silently.

And then the attention is back on Kurt, Kurt Hummel, they repeat, and his fellow tribute Quinn Fabray as the District Head raises their joined hands in the air.

Blaine is completely alive and thriving. It's as if his life force, once lost, is now back in full throttle, beating his heart harder than before and pumping his blood fast through his every vein. He can't explain it and won't even try to right now. Not that much has changed; he still knows for a fact that he is going to die but now he's convinced he won't go without a purpose, without something to fight for. But what he's fighting for won't be his own life.

It will be Kurt Hummel's.


	2. Mors mea, vita tu

_A regular update? What is this? This is only half-betad, by myself, so please excuse any grammar mistakes or typos. You can even let me know if you spot any, if you're so inclined :) Not much to say other than that, so read, review, and enjoy!_

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><p>Blaine lies in his bed after waking from a fitful sleep, turning over the replay of the reapings in his mind with all his might, trying to recount which districts turned out which tributes.<p>

He clearly remembers 12 through 9, but after 8 his memory gets a little fuzzy. Part of him refuses to believe it's because of Kurt's bright eyes emblazoned in his vision making everything else immediately following the sight hard to see, but part of him knows it's no use denying it.

He remembers taking into account the Careers, tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4. From the latter was Santana Lopez, a lithe and quietly dangerous-looking girl, and Dave Karofsky, the equivalent of a male District 9 Lauren. 2 Had procured Giselle and Jesse, who were not heavily-built but looked more cunning than the other 22 tributes combined. Finally there was District 1 with Sugar and Sebastain, the former looking haughty yet vacant and the latter looking smug but infinitely more resourceful than his female partner. His eyes seemed to stare right through the camera lens and into Blaine's soul, and somehow the gleam he saw there seemed more threatening than Karofsky and Lauren's size, than Giselle and Jesse's superior minds.

The other districts' tributes Blaine could not for the life of him remember. Technically it didn't really matter since he would meet them all soon enough for training. The only other standout replay was when he had steeled himself against his own image at the recount of District 5, trying not to be surprised at how nonchalant he had managed look, trying not to notice the flicker of emotion, or lack thereof, across his father's face.

Blaine gives a huff of a sigh and throws back the covers, easing himself out of bed. Today is the day of the Opening Ceremonies and Emma had reminded them before the group went their separate ways to bed that the train would be arriving in the station at nine o' clock precisely. That much he remembers.

Blaine glances at the digital clock beside the bed. It's 8:30.

He quickly showers in the same routine as before, picking out a conservative light blue sweater and grey slacks, and gelling his hair into its perfect part. By the time he manages to fit just the right curls into place, it's time to go.

In the hall he's met by Tina, whose hand slips into his easily as they make their way to the front of the train.

As they walk through the dining compartment, the city whirs by them through the windows, pastels and oddly outfitted people jumping and screaming. Their noises and exclamations are drowned out by the rumbling of the train.

Emma and April are waiting by the exit of the train. They smile in greeting as Blaine and Tina approach.

As the train slows to a stop, Blaine notices Tina glancing longingly at a pile of pastries on one table. Apparently Emma notices as well.

"Don't worry, breakfast will be available at the capitol building," she says sweetly.

Tina looks skeptical but can't protest as the doors slide open and a roar of commotion reaches their ears.

"Ready?" Emma says, flinching as April rocks unsteadily on spindly heels and clutches to Emma's arm for support.

Blaine is on the same page as April, shaking knees threatening to give out from underneath him. But he puts on a brave face for Tina and nods.

They share a look before stepping off the train and onto the platform.

* * *

><p>Blaine realizes that Tina had a reason to be skeptical of breakfast, because he barely has time to munch on the chocolate-filled croissant they handed him on the way to the Remake Center before a stampede of three is pushing into the room.<p>

"Oh my gosh, aren't you a _darling!"_

"Such lovely eyes, oh but if only they were a _bit_ more green-"

"But look at that helmet of hair, oh goodness, that simply will not do."

"You're going into battle, not the royal ball!"

Blaine blinks rapidly, trying to take it all in. He has somehow been sat down in a hard, white plastic chair without knowing exactly how he got there.

"I- pardon me- excuse- um," he tries, flinching under pinching and prodding hands.

"Clothes off, Mr. Anderson!" comes a voice.

Like clockwork, they all stand back to look at him in silence. He gapes up at them from where he sits in the chair.

"E-excuse me?" he says incredulously.

"Go on, go on," says a woman who Blaine establishes as a sandy blonde with pale pink-tinged skin. "We don't have all day."

Blaine looks helplessly from one team member to the next. From this distance he sees that there are two women and a man, all dressed extravagantly and sporting outlandish hairstyles that he's only seen his mothers' fashion magazines from the Capital.

When their expectant gazes don't let up, Blaine surrenders and strips off his carefully chosen outfit, blushing furiously the whole time.

He folds his arms uncomfortably when they do nothing but stare.

"Well his skin is a bit pink, that might be hard to work with," says the platinum blonde beside the pink-skinned woman.

"That's because he's embarrassed," says the one man, rolling his eyes all the way up to his overstyled jerry curls.

"At least he's in good shape and well-kept-for," says the pink-skinned lady.

"Sorry," Blaine interrupts, "But if you're all going to be staring at me naked could I at least know your names?"

"Oh of course, dear, how silly of us," says the platinum-blonde, oblivious to Blaine's biting tone. "I'm Kendra."

"Terri," says the pink-skinned woman.

"My sister," clarifies Kendra.

"My name is Will," says the man, "Terri's husband and your stylist."

Blaine shakes all of their hands, rather awkwardly because he's never had the experience of greeting people stark naked, before Will offers him a robe.

"I think we've seen enough, ladies," he says with a chuckle.

"Oh no, I think just a little more wouldn't hurt," Kendra says snarkily, and Blaine fumbles to take the robe before she can protest more.

"S-so what's the plan for the Parade?"

"You'll be fully clothed for one thing; that pinkish glow you get about you will simply not do at all," scoffs Kendra.

"In fact," Will adds, throwing a weary glance in his sister in-law's direction, "You'll be clothed in a full-body suit."

"But to add the 'power' aspect of District 5 in, we're adding a little... spark," Terri says with a wink.

"What do you mean?" Blaine asks, suddenly hesitant.

"Fiberoptic lights," Will says reassuringly. "Kendra wanted to electrocute the suits-"

"It's not _that _risky," Kendra hisses in protest.

"-But we didn't want to endanger you before you even stepped into the arena," Will continues.

"So as a compromise," Terri says nervously, sensing tension between her husband and sister, "The lights are timed to flash like lightning. And as an extra precaution the suits are rubber."

If Blaine still looks unconvinced, the prep team ignores him.

"Let's start with this god-awful hair, shall we?" Kendra says.

It turns out there isn't a whole lot for the prep team to do, other than soak Blaine in aromatherapeutic moisturizers and fix his hair. Throughout the whole process the women simply ooze delight at how well-groomed Blaine has managed to keep himself while Will rolls his eyes and keeps them on task. By the end of it, Blaine's skin is glowing almost unnaturally and his cropped hair is styled into carefully tousled curls.

"Into the costume now," Terri says, reaching into one of many duffel bags they've brought along and procuring a jet-black bodysuit.

It takes a while to get Blaine into the skintight fabric since the rubber catches _everywhere_ and the layer embedded with the tiny pin-prick lights is so thick. But once he's in it does wonders for his body in places he didn't even realize needed wonders in the first place.

"Perfect," the three chorus, taking a step back to admire their finished product.

Blaine shifts uncomfortably, feeling out of place in this new skin. He looks over to the full length mirror beside him, blushing furiously because the suit leaves _nothing _to the imagination.

His face is covered in blue and black sequins, sparkles, and glitter, lights twisting and shining as he twists his head to and fro. He's just thinking that the blue fails to spark brighter than the ones that have been haunting him for about a day now when Terri's voice snaps him back to Earth.

"Perfect. Simply _perfect."_

Blaine would really beg to differ, would really like to strip off all these grand facades that hide his real self and would like nothing more than to wake up in his plush bed back home and sigh in content because this has to be the worst nightmare Blaine has ever found himself in.

But he's granted none of these things; instead he is swept off his star-studded, combat-booted feet out of the room and off to the first step in his impending doom.

Tina and her team meet them at the bottom level of the Remake Center, where the stable house leading out to the streets lined with people and eventually the City Circle. Blaine sighs in relief at the familiar face, taking comfort in the fact that Tina looks extremely fidgety costume as well. Their fingers interlace automatically.

Kendra coughs pointedly and Tina's aquamarine-haired stylist says gently, "It would probably best if you two didn't come in contact with each other, it might give people the wrong idea."

"What wrong idea?" Blaine asks indignantly, clinging to Tina's hand harder in protest.

"That you two like each other," Kendra says bluntly.

Tina speaks up hesitantly. "But I do li-"

"You're going to kill each other," Terri says, laughing a bit as if that could cover up the harsh tone.

Blaine grits his teeth and releases Tina's hand, trying not to catch Will's sympathetic gaze.

They're ushered into a line of horse-drawn chariots; District 5's horses are white-speckled black.

Chariots are already being released beyond the doors into the crowd, and Blaine swallows down a spike of nervousness.

"Ready?" Will asks from below, holding a one-button remote. Blaine and Tina nod, and in an instant both of them are sparking in lightning flashes, fading and glowing and reflecting on their sparkling faces to throw reflections all over the room.

"Wow," Blaine whispers, because despite his discomfort, it's an amazing display.

And then the horses are jolting to a start.

"Remember to smile, those pearly whites are part of the costume!" Blaine hears Terri yelling, and it's the last thing he hears before the horses pull them through the doors and out into the street.

The bright lamplights illuminating the twilight sky are temporarily blinding, but Blaine's performance instincts kick in and he's smiling and waving at the capitol inhabitants like a knee-jerk instinct; he's attended enough of his father's parties to know how to please a crowd.

The audience is stunned speechless at first, taking in their dazzling outfits, before letting out a deafening roar of a cheer. Their horses roll them down the length of the street before taking their place beside District 4 in the arc of chariots at the City Circle.

It takes two more chariots for Blaine to calm his adrenaline rush, but it spikes right back up in an instant.

Amidst all of the making over and costuming, Blaine had nearly forgotten his startling epiphany of last night. But it crashes down on him all over again as he catches his first real, in-person glimpse of Kurt Hummel.

Kurt's icy blue eyes stand out from the royal colors of his and his fellow tribute's outfits. Their capes, a vibrant and silky red, billow brilliantly due to their velvet lining. Navy blue silk shirts tucked into dark, high-waisted riding pants show off their slender bodies and red, elbow-length gloves stretch their arms on forever.

As they ride up to join the line of tributes, Kurt's eyes lock on to his own for a split second. Blaine's heart jumpstarts in his constricted ribcage, but before he can sort through his shock to decipher the precise color and spark and emotion there, Tina is nudging him inconspicuously.

He gives her his attention. She's nodding her head toward the audience around them; Blaine's obviously been staring for too long. He snaps back to trophy-son mode, heart still spluttering spasmodically as he smiles back up at the anonymous members of the audience and trying to observe as best he can the rest of his competition.

1's tributes (Sebastian and Sugar, Blaine remembers) are dressed in white so pure it seems to be sparkling, though that might just be the effect of the 2.5 carat diamonds studding their eyes, necks, and almost any other visible skin- which is a lot; Sebastian wears nothing under his waistcoat and Sugar's gown plunges all the way down to her waist in the front.

Sebastian meets him with a look and Blaine looks away in terror; he isn't sure whether the career had looked ready to murder him or devour him whole.

Either way, he fidgets in his too-tight suit in discomfort.

The other costumes seem very run-of-the-mill and reminiscent of past games, other than the tributes from District 4 who are covered with what appear to be shiny, multi-colored fish scales, and 12, who are naked and coated in coal dust. Blaine fails to hide his sympathetic wince as the boy tries to the best of his ability to block the sight of his visibly trembling sister.

Blaine keeps smiling and waving and occasionally winking at crowd members, but as the anthem plays out over City Circle, he can't help but steal glances over at the District 8 chariot.

Homosexuality isn't something technically frowned upon in Panem, but it isn't something you go shouting from the rooftops either. Blaine hadn't given much thought to the situation before but now, unable to tear his eyes from Kurt's eyes, hair, arms, legs, everything, Blaine's preferences are crystal clear.

Blaine is definitely gay. 100% gay.

Now President Sylvester is speechifying, but Blaine doesn't hear a word. He's too busy drinking in Kurt Hummel's eyes, his arms, his slim torso and chestnut hair because he just can't get _enough. _The boy seems so confident, and yet Blaine sees something in him that calls out to be protected - not because it needs to be, but because it's such a special quality that it practically begs to be cherished, to be preserved.

Uproarious applause fills the stadium and drops Blaine back to earth. He hastily moves his hands to clap as well, and before he knows it the horses are pulling their chariots back to the stables.

Districts 6 and 7 go first, being in the middle of the line and closest to the central street. Blaine's own chariot then turns, heading straight towards District 8's and for a split second Blaine wonders if he's been electrocuted by the suit because it feels like his body is on fire.

Kurt Hummel catches Blaine's gaze, twitches one eyebrow up, and grins haughtily.

And then the horses turn, and Blaine's chariot is tailing District 6's, Kurt's chariot following behind and out of sight.

Blaine's muscles itch to turn back around but he forces his attention on the crowd, accepting their adoration and awe with smiles and waves.

* * *

><p>As soon as they reach the stables it's like a switch has been flipped; Blaine is immediately feeling every single pore beading moisture under the unbreathable rubber. Glares of jealous tributes and glimpses of brilliant red and blue in his peripheral vision take a backseat; he needs this insufferable costume off, <em>now. <em>

"You two were brilliant!" Kendra trills, and out of nowhere their team members are helping them down from the chariots.

Terri begins to suggest, "Why don't we stay a while, maybe size up the competi-"

_"No," _Blaine and Tina say at once, and despite their squirming discomfort they smile weakly at each other.

"It's been a long day," Will offers.

"You can say that again," Tina ventures to mutter.

Chancing a glance back at District 8's chariot, where Kurt is peeling off his gloves to slowly reveal long, nimble fingers, Blaine nods in agreement.

* * *

><p>Once they've made their way to the fifth floor of the Training Center, where they'll be staying for next few weeks to attend training sessions, Blaine and Tina's respective teams usher them into their rooms. Blaine spends five minutes convincing Terri, Kendra, and Will that he doesn't need help. Once they hesitantly ease out of the room, reassuring him that if he needs them to shout and reminding him not to use hair gel, he sighs in relief. Alone at last.<p>

He should earn a record for how fast he strips out of his rubber skin, wincing at how damp his skin is underneath. He's in the shower less than five seconds later, pushing ten random buttons and letting foams and soaps and hothot_scalding _water pour down over him.

The relentless water droplets are like a massage, and Blaine sighs in something that's similar to relaxation. Because under all of the luxuries and cheering and food and glitter, it's impossible to be fully at ease when the fact that you're going to _die _is always there, waiting just under the surface.

Sandalwood-scented shampoo pours down over his head and face at the press of a button. He looks down to watch the paint and jewels swirl down the drain. Training begins tomorrow, and he has no clue where to begin - no clue how to make a warrior out of a privileged mayor's son.

He pushes the thought from his mind, hoping that under April's haze of alcohol she has some helpful tips. Instead, he lets his mind drift to Kurt, the image of the boy permanently burned in his eyelids, replaying the smile directed towards _him and only him_ over and over.

Blaine tilts his head back, drowning in various scents but more so in his thoughts.

Kurt Hummel is every thought, every breath, every twitch in his muscles and Blaine can't wrap his head around it, can't understand _why. _The boy from District 8 has crawled under his skin with no effort at all, without even _knowing _it. Blaine doesn't know what it is about District 8's tribute that draws out the protective side in him. He doesn't even know if it's worth analyzing. All he knows is that those blue eyes are magnetic, and that the world without them would be meaningless - stripped of color and slow like walking in water.

Even if it's a world he won't be living in.

It can't possibly be healthy, he thinks as he looks down to watch blue and silver sparkles float down the drain. To be fixated on this one person. His mind has surely broken under the shock of what's to come and is compensating by obsessively fixating on one object. Since Blaine had convinced himself that he no longer had the will to live, his survival instincts made one up.

When his fingertips begin to shrivel, he steps out into the steamy bathroom, toweling off and changing into the first pair of pajamas he can find in the closet.

He's supposed to go down to dinner with the team of stylists, Emma, April, and Tina, but his limbs are dragging, muscles sluggish with exhaustion. One he's in pajamas he opens the door and finds exactly what he wanted: Will, Terri, and Kendra waiting with bated breath for him to require their assistance.

Their faces brighten at his appearance but dim considerably when he tells them to relay the message to everyone else that he won't be attending dinner because he isn't feeling very well. They look skeptical but Blaine is assertive, and they assure him they'll pass along his message, urge him to rest up and get well for the first day of training tomorrow, and shuffle off to dinner.

Blaine closes the door to his bedroom and looks around once, unimpressed by the grandeur of the decor, and collapses onto the bed, not bothering to undo the tightly tucked in comforters and massive pile of pillows.

As he suspected, even though he's dead tired he can't seem to get his mind to stop running around. He feels sick with all the thoughts rolling around in his head. How to ensure his safety? Why him? He's already half asleep but his mind is buzzing and frantically roaming, from blue eyes to gentle smiles to long, pale fingers and a briefest fantasy of skin on skin but mostly _blue, smile, fingers, live, die, survive, protect. _

The last thought Blaine runs circles around before drifting off to sleep is this:

The only way to completely guarantee Kurt Hummel's victory in the Games is to end up being the singular victim left standing in his way.

Which means that Blaine's very reason for living will be the one to end his life.


	3. Vivere militare est

_Wrote this chapter in two hours yesterday, and today's release of Blaine singing Fighter has me inspired to the point of complete, unhealthy frenzy. I'm on a roll, can't stop, won't stop! Read, review, and enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Blaine is running.<p>

He doesn't know, or really care, what he's running from or running to. All he knows is that he's running and it's of the utmost importance that he _keep on running. _

He runs and runs, legs providing neverending energy, past trees and staring animals and through water- soon it becomes clear that he's running through the arena.

And a few seconds, minutes, hours later, he realizes that he's running _from _something.

As soon as that hits him he's cornered, stops short against an unscalable cliffside overlooking what must be a vast electric current because tiny fiberoptic lights are flashing in lightning patterns across the dark, black span of space.

"Gotcha," a voice suddenly whispers close, lips brushing against his ear, and the body pressed against Blaine's back is hot, _too _hot. Even though he can't see the face he knows now what - _who_ - he's been running from and he turns his head infinitesimally despite the throbbing horror in his chest, despite the knowledge that in the next few seconds, minutes, hours, he's going to die. He only catches the briefest glimpse of icy blue before lips are hot, _too _hot on his own -

And then he's being shoved, _hard._ He tips, and he falls -

And he lurches up in bed, gasping in a too-sharp breath that makes his lungs ache.

He scans the room once, just to make sure that this isn't a dream as well (somehow he keeps hoping), then exhales shakily and wills the nightmare to wipe itself clean from his memory.

But it doesn't.

Blue eyes and hot breath and _fear _are still lingering in his veins by the time he ventures down to breakfast, and are still in the back of his mind as his team gets him dressed for training, and stubbornly niggling in his chest as he and Tina, accompanied by April, make their way down the elevator to the basement of the Training Center.

April has remained silent all morning, so Tina ventures to address her.

"Any advice?" she asks timidly.

April sways on her feet as if being abruptly drawn from a trance of some sort, and raises her painted eyebrows at her.

"Advice?" she asks shortly.

"For training," Blaine adds, trying to add his irritation.

"Oh," April says, bright pink lips circling around the word. "Um..." she taps a french-manicured finger to her chin. "Train separately," she says, like she's just remembering it. "I know you cutie-pies have formed some kind of attachment to each other but you _are_ rivals in the end."

She lets out a trilling giggle, and Tina pointedly avoids Blaine's grim glance.

"Also, learn how to survive," she says, trying to remain serious. "For all you know you could be victor just by holding out until everyone else kills themselves off."

Blaine thinks this sounds unlikely, but that's all the advice they have time for before the elevator dings at its arrival.

"See you later chick-a-dees," April sing-songs as she twiddles her fingers at them.

They're the first ones to arrive in the lobby. The head trainer, a heavy-set woman with fierce eyes and cropped, curly hair, leaves them alone other than a cut nod of acknowledgement until the other tributes filter in.

Blaine pointedly avoids looking at Kurt Hummel, tingles of adrenaline still sparking under his skin. So instead, he focuses on finally getting a good look at the four tributes that he didn't register during the reaping, that he was too distracted to notice at the Opening Ceremonies. District 3 has produced a cute-looking Asian girl and a handsome African-American boy, who stand at least a foot apart and keep casting suspicious glances at one another. A severe-looking Asian boy and a black-haired, pale faced girl stand at the back of the crowd, and the patches over their chest read "6".

He's just taking in the small brunette and the unnatural blonde with big lips from 7 when the head trainer clears her throat for the tributes' attention, despite the room being dead silent in the first place.

"My name is Beiste," she projects in a loud, booming voice. "And through those doors is the gymnasium where you will prepare for combat in the arena. But don't get your bacon twisted in your biscuits to get to all those stations first."

Blaine glances at Tina in confusion at her strange metaphor, and Tina shakes her head in wonderment.

"Survival skills are just as important as fighting skills," Beiste continues. "So don't pass up the opportunity to learn edible plants in favor of learning how to shank someone with a knife."

Her tone is so dry that some of the tributes spare a chuckle, but somehow Blaine can't find the humor in her words.

"The only rule is no fighting with other tributes. Save that for the arena and ask our trained professionals to help you if you want it. Got it?"

All the tributes mumble the affirmative. She nods and turns to the double doors behind her, opening them and striding inside. All twenty-four tributes follow.

It's a large, high-ceilinged place, with different stations lined up for different skills. An alcove on one wall seats the gamemakers who will be watching attentively to size each tribute up. Blaine snorts to himself as he glances over to where they all gather around a bottle of bubbly alcohol, thinking that "attentively" wouldn't be the best word to use.

The careers, ignoring Beiste's advice, head straight for the weapons stations. Tina casts Blaine a hesitant look, and after glancing about to make sure no one is watching, reaches over to squeeze his hand before scurrying over to the knot-tying station.

Before Blaine knows it he's the last one standing in the entrance of the gym, so he hurries over to the only empty station: edible plants.

He doesn't have a problem memorizing which ones are edible and which ones aren't, but he does have some difficulty telling some of them apart. When the instructor gets weary of explaining the difference between wildberries and nightlock to him, she somewhat gently suggests that he take a break and come back. Blaine glances up from the dark fruits and, eyeing the District 2 girl tugging her fellow tribute over in Blaine's direction, he takes the instructor's advice.

He tries to make his way around the gym as thoroughly as possible and by lunchtime, he's made it through a third of the stations with little to no luck. How is it possible that he's no good at axes, knot-tying, hammock-making, knives, slingshots, _and _tridents?

He gobbles down his turkey sandwich with determination, though. There _must _be something he's good at in there, and he _will _find it.

_I have to, _he thinks to himself, sparing a glance down the table where Kurt munches on a grilled chicken salad.

* * *

><p>The next day Blaine picks up where he left off, starting first with archery. The instructor teaches him how to hold the bow and arrow, listing off a stream of pointers that Blaine scrambles to memorize. Keeping what he can remember in mind, he shoots arrow after arrow, hoping he's not just imagining that he's getting better with each shot.<p>

After a while another tribute joins him at the station, but Blaine remains focused on his own target (which he still hasn't managed to hit yet, but that last one skimmed the edge so that's progress).

The _thunk _of the other tribute's arrow hitting the target rings in Blaine's ears like a taunt, but he refuses to get frustrated. Finally, his arrow manages to lodge in the outer ring of his target.

Just as he feels the smile broaden on his face, a second arrow lodges in the third ring from the center of his own target.

Blaine whips his head to the side to glare at the new rival, but just barely contains a sound of shock.

Kurt twirls his bow once in his hand, smirking condescendingly at Blaine, and drops the instrument back into the large bucket before striding off to the knives station.

Blaine shoves his bow back into the bucket as well, stalking off in the opposite direction to fire-making.

_He wouldn't be mocking me if he knew I'm the one who's going to save his ass in the arena, _Blaine thinks bitterly.

After fire-making, shelters, snares, and edible insects, all of which he's at least semi-decent at, he has time for one more station before lunch. He looks around, weighing the options, and decides on hand-to-hand combat.

The instructor teaches him the basics, which Blaine finds he picks up and retains easily, and to his surprise, executes with even more ease in practice. The instructor, impressed with his talent, teaches him more complex moves, and Blaine takes every single one in stride. By the time Beiste calls out lunch time he has his instructor on the floor, wind knocked out of him.

Blaine can't help but let his triumphant smile shine through as his instructor pats him on the back. Finally, something he can _do well. _

At lunch Blaine sits beside Tina, but they don't speak. He glances around, the room, taking in the group of laughing Careers at one head of the table, the boy from 12 serving a plate for his sister at the buffet table, the ditzy blonde girl from 11 chatting up the timid boy with an odd accent from 9.

The unoccupied seat beside him pulls out, and Blaine automatically turns to see who it is only to find his gaze met by blue eyes.

Kurt's eyes flick up and down once, then he nods once and turns to the girl on his other side, the large, dark-skinned girl from 10.

Blaine can't keep himself from blushing, trying to focus on his food but suddenly feeling not very hungry at all. He cuts his steak with the utmost caution, trying not to bump his elbow into Kurt's, but finds his fingers fumbling with the silverware.

_Get it together, Anderson, _he scolds himself mentally.

Kurt's voice is high and smooth as he chats to the girl (Mercedes, he remembers), and Blaine thinks he could get lost in that sound, could fall asleep to it, whispering in his ear-

"-n, aren't you?"

Blaine starts, realizing that voice is being directed at him. "I-what?" he stutters.

One chestnut eyebrow raises in good humor. "I said, you're the mayor's son, aren't you?"

"Oh," Blaine nearly squeaks, and he would kick himself if it were physically sound. "Yeah, that's me. Blaine Anderson, mayor's son."

Blaine cringes at his lame attempt at humor, but Kurt regards him bemusedly.

"Kurt Hummel," he finally says, "No title."

It seems like an introduction that would introduce a handshake, but Kurt keeps his hands carefully in his lap. Blaine shakes it off, scrambling to keep the conversation going.

"You seemed pretty good at archery," he says, hoping his tone comes across as playful rather than breathless.

Kurt lets out a small chuckle, and Blaine's heart soars at the sound. "You seemed pretty mediocre," he replied.

"Any advice?" Blaine ventures, but Beiste walks in at that very moment to announce the end of lunch.

"Here's some advice," Kurt asks as he stands. "Shoot straight."

And with that he strides gracefully out of the room, leaving Blaine to wonder whether he should be honored or insulted.

* * *

><p>That night Blaine dreams of Kurt, dressed almost comically as an angel, shooting him in the heart with a bow and arrow.<p>

* * *

><p>The next day, keeping his newfound talent in mind, Blaine keeps to all of the fighting stations. The hand-to-hand instructor is thrilled to see him first thing in the morning and gladly helps him review, suggesting he try out wrestling next.<p>

Blaine's confidence only soars higher when he finds he's good at wrestling too, and tries his hand at boxing only to find yet another - if not the best yet - talent. As he boxes against the punching bag, he glances over to the where Kurt is effortlessly tying knots and punches that much harder.

When he knows he's covered all of the stations he's good at, he braves the obstacle course, rope course, and climbing, practicing all three until he's satisfied with his speed and upper-arm strength.

By the time he settles down for lunch, he thinks that he might just be able to hold his own in the arena. Maybe he's not such a hopeless case after all.

"Not so hopeless today, are you Anderson?" says a familiar voice, echoing his thoughts.

Blaine goes for a haughty smirk, but it comes out more like a big, toothy grin. "Kurt Hummel, no title," he says, as if he hasn't had the name on his mind every minute every day for the past week.

"I see you're good with your arms," Kurt says airily.

"I see you're good with your hands," Blaine retorts.

Kurt flounders, and Blaine tries not to blush at how incredibly _flirty _that must have sounded.

"You were watching me?" Kurt finally asks, hands tight on his silverware.

Blaine shrugs. "You were watching me."

A nearly uncomfortable silence falls between them as they eat. Blaine's heart yearns to just be out with it and confess his intense... protectiveness... for Kurt. Get up on the table and sing an ode to the way Kurt's eyes sparkle up close, the way his limbs move with the utmost grace, the way his soft voice cuts with wit.

But instead he asks,

"So do you have any allies?"

Kurt looks at him suspiciously, and Blaine has that urge to kick himself again.

"You don't have to tell me," he adds quickly, saving himself. "I'm just making conversation. And it seems kind of pointless to ask your favorite color when it won't matter in the end." Even though it does matter to Blaine. He wants to know Kurt's favorite color, wants to know everything about him.

Kurt seems to size him up with narrowed eyes before turning back to his food. "My mentor said to work alone, and that's always worked for me in the past so I plan to follow orders."

Blaine nods, holding his head up as he considers and tries not to show his disappointment. He had only half-hoped he could gain an alliance out of the conversation, because it would be easier to assure Kurt's victory if they were on the same team.

No matter, though. Blaine can easily protect Kurt from afar. He hopes.

"What about you?" Kurt asks cautiously.

Blaine considers. The only person other than Kurt he would consider forming an alliance with would be Tina. But he remembers how her stylist had advised them not to hold hands during the Opening Ceremonies, and thinks that maybe his people wouldn't like them working together either.

"I don't know," he finally says.

Lunch ends then, and Kurt spares him a smile as he stands and walks away.

"Good luck," Blaine blurts out, and Kurt turns.

"What?"

"At your private training session," Blaine clarifies, swallowing hard. "Good luck."

Kurt tilts his head in consideration. "You too," he says, and begins to walk out the door again but pauses.

"My favorite color is violet, by the way." He smiles almost sadly, and walks out of the room.

* * *

><p>Blaine doesn't think he'll get much of a score from the gamemakers, since all he does is throw some heavy punches at the punching bag and wrestle with an instructor or two. But the next evening, when his face flashes across the television screen assigned with the number 8, he accepts his congratulations with pride. He breaks the rules when Tina only gets a 5 and squeezes her hand comfortingly.<p>

The only standout scores are Rachel Berry from 7, who gets a 2, and surprisingly Quinn from 8, who gets a full score of 12. It's a shame Kurt (who also got an 8) isn't allowed to make allies; his very own fellow tribute would have been a smart one to have.

Blaine settles down for the night less stressed and less drained than before. These past few days have been uplifting, and now knowing that he might just stand a chance at surviving past the inevitable bloodbath at the cornucopia, it makes Blaine feel all that much better.

His only goal is to keep Kurt safe for as long as he lives in that place. It can't possibly be that difficult, right?

Blaine wipes his hands on the downy comforter; his palms are getting sweaty again.


	4. Pugna pro amor

_I have no idea if the latin for this chapter's title is correct, since I translated it instead of looking it up on an official Wikipedia list. (Because Wikipedia is obviously official.)_

_I feel so silly posting this now since I've seen like, five (and counting) Hunger Games Glee fics on Tumblr. But the good news is that after briefly checking them out (NOT reading, since I don't want them to bleed into my fic), none of them have the plot that I've set up for my story. Because really, who would want to put Blaine and Kurt in an arena together to battle to the death and maybe fall in love in the process?_

_Oh wow awkward, I want to do that and am. I'm THAT person._

_As always, read, review, enjoy, and try not to get mad if I don't update every day from now on!_

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><p>"Tomorrow's a big day."<p>

Frankly, Blaine is getting a little sick of their chaperone's constant cheeriness, so he focuses on his fruit-infused oatmeal instead of acknowledging her statement.

When Tina doesn't respond either, Emma clears her throat self-consciously. "Interviews," she clarifies.

The table is still silent. The only noise is the ice cubes in April's drink clinking together as she swirls her glass around.

Emma, however, is undeterred. "Today April and I will train you - " April's head shoots up at the mention of her name - "To present yourselves in a way that will win over potential sponsors. I'll teach you poise and physical appearance, and April will help you with your stage personality. Do either of you have a preference as to which you would like to learn first?"

Blaine spears a strawberry into his mouth, and Tina stares at the wall across from her, not seeming to even be listening.

"Come on guys," Emma says, finally an edge of frustration creeping into her voice. "Don't tell me you've given up already. You go into the arena in two days; this is no time to check out!"

Blaine sighs and pushes his empty oatmeal bowl away from him. He hasn't checked out, not even close. It's just that he's not exactly looking forward to being shown off yet again. He's had enough of that at his father's parties and work gatherings, and he doesn't need training on how to charm a crowd. He knows how to do that, a little _too _well.

But he feels bad for Emma. She's been nothing but kind to him and Tina even while dealing with their floozy of a mentor, so it's unfair for him to ignore her attempts at motivation. She's trying hard, so he has to give her credit.

"I'll take personality with April," he says, and Emma's bright blue-painted lips stretch into a smile.

"Perfect," she declares. "I'll take Tina, then. Is everyone ready to get started?"

Blaine rolls his shoulders back, encouraging himself to stay motivated. Maybe if he does exceptionally well at his interview, he'll be able to impress Kurt and prove that he's more than a lousy shot and a strong pair of arms.

* * *

><p>Blaine sits on the couch across from April, who is studying him carefully through squinted eyes.<p>

"Is there something on my face?" Blaine asks, only half-worried.

"I've gotta figure out what to do with you," she says.

"What to do with me?" Blaine parrots curiously.

"What personality to give you," she clarifies.

"I have a personality of my own," Blaine says, a little indignantly.

April raises her eyebrows and leans back in her chair. "All right, then show me. Walk in from over there and pretend I'm the interviewer."

Blaine blinks, temporarily taken aback, before getting up off the couch and standing at the door, back to April. He takes a deep breath, imagining he's in his room back home, straightening his tie for yet another dinner party, putting his game face on.

_Just a few hours, _he used to tell himself. _Just a few hours until you can be yourself again. _

Blaine turns around, a large, winning smile on his face.

April's eyes bug out of her head almost comically as Blaine strides confidently over to the couch and sits down with pristine posture, one leg crossed over the other.

"Well hello, it's such a pleasure to see you!"

It isn't hard to peg down what personality to put on Blaine since he does "polite, charming, humble boy of privileged background" so easily. He isn't thrilled to go into dinner party mode but is just grateful he won't have to put on any masks he hasn't practiced already.

April shoots question after question, each of which Blaine answers with practiced charisma and polite enthusiasm. Eventually she runs out of queries, and she proclaims him ready for Emma's coaching.

When he leaves the room Tina is waiting outside, wringing her hands quietly. She starts at his appearance.

"Don't be nervous," he says with a small smile. But she just nods and hastily moves past him into the room.

Blaine sighs; he had wondered when their temporary friendship would end. Two days before the Games is as good as any time, he supposes.

Emma is waiting for him in the sitting room where they watched the reapings and private training scores, and they get straight to work. Blaine almost feels bad for giving her nothing to do- he's a pro at walking, sitting, posture, eye contact, hand gestures, _and_ smiling. Every saying she instructs him to recite he mimics perfectly, accompanied with smiles and chuckles and various articulating hand gestures.

By the time Emma's done with him, he feels as if he hasn't learned anything new. He laughs dryly to himself as he heads back to his room; Careers have been trained to fight their whole life, and all he's been trained to do is mimic phrases and look good for a crowd.

Well, at least he'll get some decent sponsors because of it.

* * *

><p>His prep team wakes him up bright and early to get Blaine ready for his interview. They place him in a white button-down under a black sweatervest, the bowtie around his neck made out of the same fiberoptic light-infused material as his Opening Ceremonies suit. His black highwaters are slim and his loafers are shined, and for the first time in weeks they slick his hair down with gel voluntarily.<p>

"Just this once," Kendra says when she spots the smug look on Blaine's face, "To help your 'innocent schoolboy' image or whatever."

While Terri applies a thin line of sparkly blue eyeliner, just to make his eyes brighter, Will places a tray in his mouth that makes his teeth tingle, but ten minutes later when it's removed his teeth look ten times whiter than before.

When his team has completed their work he's allowed a mirror, and some unidentified emotion flashes across his awareness as he realizes that he looks just like he did when his mother dressed him for elementary school, some ten or fifteen years ago.

"I look like a five year-old," he can't help but blurt.

"You look adorable," Terri corrects, but Blaine thinks that they're kind of one and the same.

"Ready?" Will asks, placing his hands on Blaine's shoulders.

"Yes," Blaine says truthfully. He may be new at fighting to the death but this is something he's known how to do for years.

He meets Emma, April, Tina, and her prep team backstage, which is basically the lobby of the Training Center since the interviews are held on a platform at the entrance of the skyscraper. He wants to ask Tina what strategy April has planned for her, considering her lacy gloves, poofy black dress and veiled top-hat, but she's pointedly staring at her lace-up boots so he thinks better of it.

"Tributes, line up!" says a Peacekeeper passing by. Blaine and Tina hustle with the other tributes to line up in girl-boy order from District 1 to District 12. Compared to the other tributes, he and Tina look startlingly plain; Sebastian from 1 has been promoted from a white costume to red as well as the fierce-looking girl from 4, and Blaine thinks he spots every other color of the rainbow at least once in the line of young men and women. In fact, the only other person who doesn't seem to be in a jewel tone is-

Blaine thinks he chokes on his own air for a moment.

A few people down the line, Kurt is lounging against the wall in an all black, extremely slim suit, the only embellishment being shoulderpads made out of glossy black feathers. His pale profile shines in the dim light, and his hair is coiffed into a high pompadour.

Blaine gulps audibly, willing the flush in his cheeks to go away.

His attention is drawn away from Kurt when a blast of music and a roar of applause makes its way through the lobby. The show must be starting. If he listens hard, he can hear the host, Holly Holiday, small-talking the audience and attempting in vain to calm them down.

The line begins to move, and Blaine hears his team wish them good luck before the roar of the audience takes over, bright lights flashing in his eyes as he and the other tributes file onstage.

Holly Holiday, dressed in a floor-length hot pink gown with matching eyelashes and streaks in her blonde hair, makes a sweeping gesture to the tributes behind her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of the twenty-fourth annual Hunger Games!"

If the roar was loud before it's deafening now, but after a few seconds Holly takes her seat and the noise settles down to an excited buzz.

"Up first, from District 1, is Sugar Motta!"

Sugar waves at the frenzied crowd of painted faces as she stands, flouncing down in a frilly pink dress with a gold bow to the chair facing Holly.

The girl is obviously going for a cocky approach. It irritates Blaine but the audience eats up her confidence, cheering enthusiastically with every blunt answer she gives Holly.

The applause for Sebastian is even louder than Sugar's, and Blaine eyes his red suit nervously, reminded of the murderous look he had received from the career during the Open Ceremonies.

He isn't surprised when Sebastian also comes across as extremely confident, but instead of Sugar's innocent manner he employs oozing, throbbing sex appeal - enough to make Blaine shift in his seat uncomfortably.

The three minutes allotted for each tribute seem to drag on, but thankfully District 5 is near the middle of the line so Blaine doesn't have to wait long.

To his shock, Tina plays up an angle of intensity. She looks almost deadly in her outfit of black under the bright lights, and he feels a slight shiver run down his back; maybe he underestimated his fellow tribute...

"Please welcome to the stage, from District 5, Blaine Anderson!"

Like clockwork a wide smile appears on Blaine's face as he hears his name called.

_Please, let me introduce you to my son, Blaine, _his father's voice echoes in his head.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he grins, shaking Holly's hand firmly and easing his grip to place a kiss to her knuckles.

The audience coos at this, and Holly makes a show of giggling into her hand as she sits down. Blaine follows suit, placing an elbow on the arm of his chair and resting his chin on curled fingers, watching his interviewer imploringly.

"Quite the charmer we've got here, don't you think folks?"

The crowd screams in agreement. Blaine flashes a bright smile at them, chancing a wink at a young woman in the front row and ignoring the resentful look from her significant other beside her it earns him.

"So tell me Blaine," Holly says as soon as the crowd calms down, "Are you enjoying your stay at the capitol?"

"_How was your trip to the Power Convention this year, son?"_

"It's been one of the best experiences of my life," Blaine lies easily and convincingly. "The food and the decor... to _die _for." He splays out the fingers holding his chin for emphasis.

"Can't argue with that," Holly beams. "How does it compare to back home?"

"_Are you making friends at school, dear?"_

"I have to admit, the company back home is a much livelier bunch," he chuckles, and the audience chuckles along with him.

"Only to be expected, right?" Holly affirms. "But surely it's because you've already charmed the pants off of everyone back home. Tell us Blaine, do you have a best friend?"

"I have a lot of friends," Blaine says somewhat truthfully. Acquaintances would be a better word.

"A _special _friend?" Holly pushes with a wink.

"_So Blaine, who's the lucky girl nowadays?"_

Blaine tries to play up his frantic blush by smiling shakily down at his feet. "No," he says in a small voice.

"Well that's sure to change if you're crowned victor this year!" she says enthusiastically, to which Blaine responds, "Very true."

"Speaking of the Games," she continues, "How do you plan on winning, Blaine? What are you fighting for?"

Blaine feels his game face crumbling down around him, cracking and chipping off in the bright stage lights.

If he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, now would be the time.

"I- I-" he stutters, scrambling for the bullshit he had been spewing so easily only seconds ago.

And then the blissful, heaven-sent sound of the buzzer rings out, signaling the end of Blaine's interview.

"Oh _darn,_" Holly says. "Time flies, when you're having fun."

"That it does," Blaine manages, trying a smile.

"Best of luck Mr. Anderson, we'll be rooting for you!"

The audience practically shrieks in adoring assent, and Blaine can't help but smile and wave at them before returning to his place with a bounce in his step.

He sinks inconspicuously into his seat. That had been a _close _shave.

It seems like no time at all before Kurt's name is called, and Blaine is unknowingly straightening back up in his seat.

Kurt practically _glides _over to the chair, posture straight and waving regally at the enthusiastic crowd. He passes right by Blaine on the way, and he can see those blue eyes framed with elegantly applied black liner. Blaine's almost dazed with the breeze of scent left in the boy's wake - roses and hairspray and facial cream mixed with something undeterminable that must be simply _Kurt. _

He's the epitome of elegance perched forward in his chair, looking like a bird ready to take flight with his feathered shoulders. His arms are crossed with one hand poised gracefully in the air, his fingers twinkling with movement to emphasize certain words as he answers Holly's questions.

" - And your brother, he tried to volunteer for you, did he not?" Holly is asking.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Step-brother," he clarifies. "He's a dim-wit neanderthal and doesn't know his lefts from rights. I love him, but I couldn't have him stealing all the glory now could I?"

Holly laughs as his wit, and the audience follows suit, but Blaine studies the way Kurt's smile tightens and realizes that he's the only one who caught on to the subtle sarcasm in the statement.

"And all that glory, do you plan to bring it home yourself?"

"Of course," Kurt says without hesitating. "But I'm more looking forward to what will lead up to it. I just know the getting there will be so much fun."

Kurt smiles softly, and Blaine's heart beats a little harder at the sinister gleam in his eye.

And then Kurt's interview is over, and he's getting to his feet so swiftly that Blaine's eyes convince him District 8's tribute really _is _taking flight.

But Kurt stays solidly grounded, if not light on his feet, as he makes his way back to his seat.

The rest of the interviews go by quickly after that, and Blaine struggles to remember everyone's name in order to keep track of them in the arena. He tries to list them off in his head in order by District: Sugar, Sebastian, Giselle, Jesse, Sunshine (or Summer, he can't remember), David, Santana, Dave (light-skinned Dave, not to be confused with dark-skinned David), Harmony, Wes (Will? No, definitely Wes), Rachel, Sam, Quinn, Kurt, Lauren, Rory, Mercedes, Jeff, Brittany, Nick, Sarah, and her brother, Puck.

Before long Holly Holiday is wrapping up the show, working the audience into a frenzy of excitement before dismissing the tributes. Blaine stands up with his peers (his rivals, he corrects himself) and files out of the lights and off the stage, into the lobby.

"You two were perfect, as always," Emma says breathlessly.

"We couldn't ask for better tributes to coach," Will says genuinely, and everyone around nods in agreement.

Blaine can't help but smile, a _real _smile, at his stylist's kind words.

"Thanks," he says, voice cracking slightly, and rubs the back of his neck. "You guys are okay, too."

There are laughs all around, and they chit-chat a bit more in the lobby before heading to the elevator up to their floor. Blaine lags behind, spotting a water fountain that appeals strongly to his dry throat, and promises to meet them in a few seconds.

After a few gulps of gloriously cool water, he heads back through the now mostly empty lobby to the elevator, pushing the button and sighing in relief when it opens almost instantaneously.

He's just sagging back against the wall, hoping his exhaustion will let him sleep well tonight, when someone slides into the elevator just as the doors slide closed.

"Oh sorry," Kurt says, a little startled to see Blaine. "I didn't know this elevator was occupied."

"There's room for both of us," Blaine says with a small smile.

And then the elevator is moving.

Blaine thinks that time is a very, _very _cruel thing for slowing down just when you need it to speed up. The silence between them drags on for one floor, which can't be more than a few seconds but it seems like _eons. _

Blaine almost jumps a foot in the air when Kurt finally breaks the silence.

"So what's your favorite color?"

Blaine stares blankly at him, at the blue eyes lined with black.

"Just making conversation," Kurt reassures him.

Blaine comes back to his senses, and rips his gaze away and to the floor.

"I don't see why it matters," he says, because it doesn't. It's a terrifying concept, but it's the truth.

"It won't matter tomorrow," Kurt says with a wistful sigh, as if he's talking about the weather forecast. "When we're fighting for our lives in the arena."

He pauses, waiting for Blaine to look up at him. When he does, Kurt continues.

"But it's today, and we're in an elevator with three more floors to ride, and I'd like to pretend for just a minute that you're just a person in an elevator instead of a potential obstacle in the way of my survival."

His voice has risen without him noticing, and he looks around nervously as if afraid of being heard.

"Blue," Blaine chokes out, captivated by those sparkling eyes. "My favorite color is blue. And I like sports, school, bread with fruits baked into it, and music and pasta and b-boys." _Especially you. _

The elevator dings, doors opening on floor five, but Blaine holds Kurt's gaze until they close and go on their way.

"You missed your stop," Kurt says, and Blaine convinces himself that he's only imagining Kurt inching closer.

"I know," Blaine says firmly, waiting.

"I like clothes," Kurt says hesitantly, finally catching on, "I like magazines, and cooking, and I love my family. Also boys," he adds as an afterthought.

Blaine curses his eyes for flicking down to Kurt's lips at this addition to his list of hobbies, commanding them to immediately return to the floor. Looking at Kurt might not be the best idea right now; he might do something rash. Or stupid. Or both.

"You hesitated," Kurt says to regain Blaine's attention.

"What?"

"When Holly asked you what you were fighting for. Why did you hesitate?"

"I was nervous," he said a little too quickly.

"What are you fighting for, Blaine?"

It's the first time his own name has slipped from Kurt's lips and Blaine is floored, wants to ask him to say it again, to whisper it in his ear, moan it against his lips -

Blaine swallows and parts his lips, willing his short-circuited brain to come up with something, _anything. _

But the elevator is opening up to Kurt's floor.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Kurt sighs. "Now I might actually feel bad when I'm stabbing you in the back."

Blaine senses the same subtle sarcasm from before and as he watches him exit the elevator, he realizes that Kurt may have been the only one in that line of tributes who was actually himself during his interview.

The doors begin to close but he scrambles to push the button to keep them open.

"I- You- I-" _It's you_, he wants to yell, _I'm fighting for you. _

"Good luck," he says instead, smiling weakly and hoping he doesn't sound desperate.

Kurt's smile can only be described as fond, but his eyes are hard when he says, in a mock-capitol accent, just as the elevator doors are closing,

"May the odds be ever in your favor.

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><p><em>Holy shit, the actual Games start in the next chapter. Are you ready? Because I'm definitely not. :{ LET THE ANGSTY LOVE BEGIN!<em>


	5. Strages

_I'm screaming someone tell me how I'm punching these updates out so fast because I don't understand_

_Much thanks to** flirtykurty** for helping me design the arena. No spoilers, but I had to do a bunch of research myself to familiarize myself with the area we based it on. If you can't figure it out or want to see reference points/drawings, you can go check the 'thg!glee' tag on my blog, blaineywainey(dot)tumblr(dot)com because I plan on sketching out some maps or landmarks and outfits after posting this. If you manage to guess the place without the references send me a message; I'm curious!_

_Not much Klaine in this part, but it's definitely action packed. **Beware of character death and violence**; this is a Hunger Games AU after all. _

_So with all that said, read, review, and enjoy!_

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><p>Blaine's palms are sweating.<p>

His hands are shaky as he wipes them on his brand new windbreaker, and it does him little good anyway so he settles for clenching and unclenching his fingers by his sides.

70.

"We're rooting for you," he just barely makes out Will's voice before the tube begins to lift him up. Out of instinct he reaches out his hands to brace himself on the clear, cylindrical walls, temporarily forgetting his current problem until they slip and slide instead of hold their place. He goes back to clenching and unclenching his fingers by his sides.

65.

April's last minute and surprisingly sober advice still rings loud in his ears.

"_Go for a pack near the center. You're fast so you can get there first, and you can fight off anyone in your way on the way out."_

61.

Blinding sunshine floods his eyes and he blinks rapidly, frantically trying to take in his surroundings before the sixty seconds is up.

"_Look around. Don't panic. Take in where you are, the arena setup, where you need to run. A minute doesn't seem like a lot but you'd be surprised how fast your mind can think in dire circumstances."_

60.

Blaine's eyes adjust quickly and he can't help but gape up and around him.

Immediately to his right and left are tributes, lined up in a circle around what seems to be a nonfunctional fountain, surrounded by a lawn of almost completely dead grass, and surrounding that is a circle of pavement that's the meeting point of four paths, the three of which Blaine can see eventually leading to cracked but paved streets. Where there would have been water in the fountain there is instead a seven-foot pit, not enough to be a fatal fall but most definitely crippling if landed in the wrong way. Surrounding the actual fountain in the middle - which is three-tiered like a wedding cake and littered with weapons, packs, and other essentials for survival - are ornate sculptures (they look somewhat like seahorses to Blaine) that would have once spewed water from their spouts but now only serve as platforms to make it to the fountain - no, the _cornucopia. _

Blaine's heart gives a frantic thud in his chest as he loosens his focus, looks beyond the confines of the park. Tall, crumbling skyscrapers are packed densely together in the skyline, some looking so unsteady that they may collapse or fall over, some looking relatively stable despite their decrepit appearance.

Everything has a dull grey-yellow appearance to it, a fine layer of dust swirling in the air and upon every visible surface and the sun burning white-hot onto the dry earth. Blaine listens closely and he hears the waves of a sea or a lake somewhere behind him, but he knows it must be man-made because there's no way this environment could sustain life, let alone hold water.

Blaine closes his eyes and steadies himself. He's in an abandoned city.

40.

"_Once you're safe, focus on survival. Don't seek out fights, just stay alive and as healthy as you can."_

His cargo pants are too hot for the weather, as well as his combat boots and windbreaker. He considers stripping it off in favor of the tank top underneath, but thinks better of it, not wanting to lose it in the bloodbath.

35.

Blaine's insides shrivel just a little bit.

34.

"_When it starts, stay singularly focused. Use your peripherals to gauge the people around you but don't worry about them."_

Blaine scans the circle for Kurt, finding him four tributes down. His eyes are wide and he's taking deep breaths.

_I'll keep him alive, _Blaine thinks resolutely. _Even if I die right now, in there, I'll get him out alive. _

29.

Blaine wrenches his focus away and back to the cornucopia, setting his sights on the largest pack he sees on the second tier. He knows it's bound to be a safe bet because the goodies get better as you go farther up; he won't be settling but he won't be overshooting either.

Besides, his main focus is protecting Kurt.

20.

Blaine hunkers down just slightly, ready to take a running start off the platform as soon as the timer, projected in front of every tribute on the dead grass, ticks down to zero.

15.

"_Get the pack, fight your way out, and run." _

Get the pack, keep tabs on Kurt, kick some ass, and don't run until you see him making his way to safety.

10.

He runs around in his head trying to remember what else April told him, but nothing comes up that he didn't already know.

"_If you do have to fight, try to disarm them first."_

"_If there's a weapon in your pack, train yourself to use it."_

"_Find water, remember to purify it first."_

5.

Blaine's heart thunders painfully hard in his chest, unadulterated _fear _radiating throughout every muscle.

4.

Maybe if he pinches himself hard enough, he'll finally wake up from this horrendous nightmare.

3.

His fingers slip and slide where he rubs them against his pants.

2.

_I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I'd rather die_

1.

He takes one final glance at those blue eyes and this time it's not April's words in his head but Kurt's:

"_May the odds be ever in your favor."_

And then Blaine is running like he's never run before, feet crunching in the dead grass and jumping off the border of the water feature to land on a seahorse, and then launch himself onto the first tier of the fountain.

The aged structure doesn't seem to like this very much, and Blaine can feel it creaking and crumbling under his feet. He has to move fast.

He stretches up and drags the pack down, swinging it over his shoulder and out of instinct, he ducks his head out of the way of a lethal-looking machete. The other tributes have caught up and his few seconds headstart of speed is over.

He kicks the feet of his attacker from underneath them, taking the tiny Asian girl by surprise and sending her falling down into the pit, chin catching on the bottom tier of the fountain with a nasty crack as she goes. Blaine lets out an involuntarily squeak but reaches out and grabs the large sword before it can fall along with her.

The fountain is _definitely _crumbling to bits now, giving way under his feet just as he thinks quick and _jumps. _

He lands wrong on the seahorse sculpture this time because the structure is slick with blood. Blaine doesn't let himself look down to see who it belongs to, but jumps straight off. His feet aren't solid on the slippery surface though, so he doesn't jump very far and has to reach out and cling to the edge of the pit, machete pinned under one hand and legs dangling.

He begins to push himself out, only managing one arm up and over the border of the fountain before a foot is trampling his other hand, the one holding the weapon.

"Well look what we have here," Sebastian says, and Blaine squints up at his face, silhouetted by the sun. "It's goody-two-shoes."

_It's over, _Blaine thinks. _I'm done for. _He glances around to look for Kurt, but can't see him in the immediate vicinity. He remembers the blood on the sculpture and holds back a whimper.

Sebastian claims the machete as his own, kicking the hand that had once owned it away so that it dangles by Blaine's side, throbbing and useless to hold him up. The career leans down, one hand in a death grip over the arm Blaine uses to hold himself above the pit, other hand holding the blade to Blaine's neck.

Blaine closes his eyes, waiting for death in shame. _Stupid stupid stupid, _he cries in his head, _Got your hopes up for nothing, thought you could actually survive this thing, thought you could actually keep the one thing that matters anymore safe-_

"It's a shame I'll have to kill you," Sebastian says, leaning impossibly closer. "Because that bashful schoolboy thing?"

He leans so close that his lips are barely brushing against Blaine's.

"_Totally _hot."

Blaine can practically feel the blade begin to slice his throat before a boot is kicking Sebastian aside, taking him by surprise.

Before Sebastian can even react, or get to his feet, Tina has stolen the machete from his hand and is offering her free one to Blaine.

Blaine doesn't think twice, swinging up his injured hand to take hers and allowing himself to be pulled up. He doesn't need to say thank you, just returns her nod with one of his own before she runs off.

He makes a quick turn around himself, taking in his surroundings.

Bodies litter the bottom of the pit, either dead or too injured to lift themselves out of it. The cornucopia is cracking , supplies falling off as parts of it crumble into the pit, knocking out those who are still struggling to stay conscious. Individual fights litter the dead grass and the pavement around it, and the wide paths leading away from it: Giselle and Jesse against Harmony from 6, Sam from 7 snapping Sugar's neck, dropping her body like it's on fire, and stumbling away.

Blaine's eyes catch a nimble figure with chestnut hair running off towards the buildings, and his heart soars victoriously: _Kurt is alive. _But milliseconds later he sees Dave Karofsky from 4, wielding a dagger, spy the same nimble figure, deciding it to be his next victim.

Blaine takes off despite the stinging surface wound on his neck from the blade of the machete. Karofsky is running after Kurt, raising his knife to make the throw -

Blaine barely makes it, jumping sideways in the knife's path so that it lodges in his sizable pack before he crashes to the hard ground. Karofsky, unable to stop his running momentum in time, trips and falls over Blaine, and seconds later his fist collides with Blaine's jaw.

The instructors Blaine practiced with during training were nothing compared to Karofsky's size but Blaine has the element of speed on his side. He slips out from under Karofsky before he can be pinned fully under his weight, wrestling out of his grasp and wrenching the knife from his pack to hold out at the hulking tribute as he gets up.

Karofsky eyes the knife hesitantly, but lunges for Blaine anyway. Blaine jumps out of the way and runs off down the path Kurt was headed, lungs aching for more oxygen and limbs burning from exertion. The larger boy is no match for Blaine's speed, and as the buildings come closer and closer, Karofsky's infuriated yells fade farther and farther away.

He makes it to the road, asphalt cracked and leaving generous bumps and even bottomless pits here and there. It's a three-way intersection, with buildings to his right and left but he doesn't stop running, continuing on straight past a barren, lifeless park, across an overpass, the lampposts lining it broken in half or ripped completely from their stands. He runs past a rusted statue that's so bent out of shape that it's hard to tell it's a half-naked man, wearing a strange headpiece, upon a horse. He runs into the maze of buildings until he comes upon a long, collapsed pile of metal that probably used to be a bridge or above-ground tramway of some sort and he can't go any further without climbing; until the sounds of screams and battle cries and footfalls behind him are gone completely.

He lets out a helpless breath as he collapses on the ground, shaded from the relentless sun by a piece of metal from the wrecked bridge. He heaves in great gulps of air, finally taking the time to strip off his jacket and let his soaked-through tank-top cool in the hot, gusting wind.

Blaine knows he can't stay here; it's too exposed and he needs to check out what's in his pack and he needs to find Kurt.

He allows himself another five minutes (probably more than he should allow, but he's so damn _winded)_ before getting up and climbing up on top of the wreckage. He had planned to simply go over it, but the crushed metal seems to go on to his right and left for a while. He can see the streets better from this angle, even though the buildings are still so densely packed that they form a kind of twisted urban maze. So he turns right and starts to make his way down the street.

He walks and walks, turning at every sound he hears, but there's no one in sight, so he keeps making his way through the city.

Throughout the arena a cannon starts to sound, and Blaine counts carefully, figuring that most of the fighting over at the cornucopia has tuckered out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Eight tributes dead, sixteen left, injured or not.

Finally the remains of the bridge end, and Blaine climbs down to the street level and keeps walking, avoiding major cracks and jumping over bumps.

Eventually he comes to a small clearing, a break in the maze, with no interesting attractions except a fallen sculpture. Keeping his knife tight in his hand, Blaine makes his way off the street and into the clearing.

It seems to be just as abandoned as the rest of the city, and his boots don't make a sound as they move across the dust-caked pavement. A shallow set of stairs lead up to the pathetic heap of what used to be art, and Blaine climbs them carefully before leaning in to observe the plates of metal. It looks like it could have looked like an abstract angel, long metal rods connecting it to its oddly symmetrical base.

Blaine shakes his head in puzzlement and looks around, interest piqued by a set of stairs leading underground at one corner of the square. He crosses the pavement, uninterrupted, and cautiously descends the stairs.

He's even more puzzled than before, taking in rusted gates that have long since stopped guarding whatever they were supposed to be guarding. There's also small room, like a large closet, just off the entrance only visible and accessible through a wide open window. It's unnervingly dark down here, but there are no sounds to cause alarm, just still, calm, darkness. Blaine squints his eyes and explores, shifting his feet around to test boundaries, knife clenched tight in his sweaty fingers. He looks down at one point when he feels his feet run out of ground to stand on and swears he sees train tracks.

Something niggles at the back of his mind, something he learned in history class at school. Underground railway stations that had long since been proved inefficient but were prominent in big cities before Panem arose... Subcars? Subtrains? Subways?

He makes his way back towards the entrance where there's more light filtering in from the sky, and peers through the window leading into the room he saw before. It's blissfully empty from what he can see, and the window is placed so that he can climb in but not be seen from the outside if he's sitting down.

An unidentifiable noise echoes off the walls from the direction of where the train tracks were, and that's the deciding factor for Blaine. He climbs through the window and settles down crosslegged in the room.

He knows that stopping now means his chances of finding Kurt are much slimmer, but he needs to take inventory of what he has and all he can do is hope that Kurt can hold his own until Blaine can get to him.

He pulls the pack off of his back and lays it in front of him, unzipping it and pulling out the contents one by one.

A thin sleeping bag, a bag of dried fruit, a small bottle of iodine for purifying water, a box of matches, a small tube of general disinfectant, and a bottle - filled with water! Blaine chances a few small sips to soothe his parched throat but sets it aside quickly. Who knows when he'll be able to chance a journey back to the cornucopia to see if that body of water was a sea or lake, or when he'll trek far enough to find a different water source?

Light is fading fast and Blaine is hungry, but doesn't want to waste his fruit or chance his first ever hunting experience in fading or nonexistent light, so he decides to risk sleeping here tonight. He hasn't heard any ominous noises since that first one before, though it could have just been parts of the disintegrating ceiling falling somewhere down the line, and anyone who ventures down here at night won't be able to see him in the dark sleeping bag on the floor of this hidden room.

He applies some disinfectant to the slight wound on his neck and massages his jaw with his good hand carefully, wincing at the pain where Karofsky struck it. He's just spread out his sleeping bag in the small space and is packing up his things in his bag (in case he needs to make a hasty retreat) when he hears the Panem anthem playing.

_The dead tributes. _

After a split second of debate, he risks climbing out of his hiding space, carefully ascending the stairs as high as he dares, just until he can see the night sky.

Across the black flash the faces of the dead. Blaine feels a pang across his chest with each one, now regretting memorizing their names during their interviews.

First is Sugar, whose neck got snapped by Sam. Then it's Harmony and Wes from 6. So that means the rest of the careers are alive. The small brunette, Rachel, from 7. When the next face, Rory from 9, flashes on the screen, Blaine contains his victory whoop, deciding on a small, relieved sigh instead. Kurt is still alive.

The faces of Mercedes and Jeff from 10 and Nick from 11 appear in the sky, and then the capitol seal fades away, leaving nothing but black, starless air.

Blaine scampers back to his makeshift home for the night, crawling under the sleeping bag despite the still-hot weather. His tank top is thankfully black, but tan cargo pants will stand out if seen.

Using his filled pack as a pillow, he lays on the side that favors his cut and sore jaw, and wills himself to sleep.

Six hours later, he wakes to the sound of a loud, roaring sound accompanied by a screech, like a train coming to a stop in the station, and the rusty creak of unused doors opening.

* * *

><p><em>Omg a cliffhanger! Trust me, nothing good is coming out of those subway doors. :|<em>


	6. Fuga vel pugna

_This seminar is entitled: Blaine wanders around while Raven puts off Kurt's appearance to build suspense. _

_I absolutely promise you Klaine in the next chapter. I say this because I've already finished the next chapter and am holding it hostage bwahahaha. But until then, enjoy Blaine running from mutts and other adventures. _

_Read, review, and enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Blaine is frozen as the train doors open, barely daring to make a sound. Suddenly he can't remember his reasoning behind staying the night in a pitch-black, underground, abandoned train station because right about now it sounds like the stupidest idea he's ever had.<p>

There's a split second of silence after the groaning of the doors ceases, and then a bone-chilling, eery scratching of nails on broken tile.

Blaine stiffens with terror in his sleeping bag, listening as the sound multiplies. There's no way these visitors are friendly.

He forces himself to slowly, _ohsoslowly _ease out of his sleeping bag and peek up out of the opening to his hiding place. He barely contains his shriek, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Rats, oversized and frenzied _rats _are pouring endlessly from the train car that has stopped in the station, its dim light from within illuminating the horrifying scene before Blaine. The creatures' tails look as if they could knock the wind out of a grown man, and their eyes glow a sickly red.

Mutts.

Suddenly jagged teeth are _snapping _at Blaine's face, and this time he does let out a shriek. The rats are seeping into every orifice they can, up the stairs to the open air, down darker hallways of the station, and most unfortunately for Blaine, _into his tiny hiding place. _

Gasping out uncontrollably panicked breaths Blaine snatches his pack and his sleeping bag from the ground just as the first rat flops down to the floor at his feet. He gives it a harsh, instinctual kick as he desperately stuffs the lengthy fabric into his pack and zips it, using the newly heavy weapon to send two more mutts flying with a _thwump. _

The disgusting animals (_are they even animals?) _are coming faster than he can fight them off, and he knows that if he doesn't manage to get out of that window where they're filtering through, he'll be trapped and that'll be it. _Without even finding Kurt first. _

His audible gulp ends in a small cry as he pulls out his knife. He slashes at the rats attempting to climb through the window, hissing in pain as the ones at his feet begin to bite and scratch. He prays to God (or the gamemakers; whichever is in a higher position) that they aren't venomous or diseased, and launches himself through the opening.

He's swept instantly with the force of the stampede in the direction of the stairs. He feels teeth ripping at his arms and legs but slashes out wherever he can, using his bag as the best shield he can manage. He stumbles on the stairs, almost getting trampled but scrambling to his feet just in time. Finally he's out in the open and he gasps in the fresh air of just-before-dawn, but knows he can't stop now.

He runs.

The rats are less condensed out here but still as deadly. And now he's out in the open, an easy target.

Sure enough, every mutt seems to have eyes only for him. His legs sting harshly as they stretch for him to run, but he shoves the pain to the back of his mind.

He dashes down the street, parallel to the one he had been traveling the day before. His energy is running out fast, and he can't possibly outrun the rats. He needs a hiding place, and fast, but his choices are limited. He can't very easily scale a crumbling building, after all. A cannon goes off somewhere nearby, accompanied by snarls and a scream but Blaine barely hears it past his internal monologue of _left, right, left, right, push, breathe. _

Finally he sees a mostly intact building in the distance, two glass double doors sealing it firmly shut. It's the only chance he has.

The rats are on his heels as he sprints, faster and faster and _oh god please faster _and finally he reaches the doors, wrenches them open, closes them and braces himself-

The crash nearly knocks him backwards but he forces his arms to keep the doors shut against the onslaught of mutts thirsty for his blood.

He can't help but let out a whimpering sob at the sight; the gigantic things throwing their hairy bodies at the glass doors, mouths stretched in ugly snarls with gleaming white teeth, glittering eyes crazed as their tails twitch to and fro and their bodies writhe.

Dawn is breaking and Blaine wonders how long he'll have to hold the doors before he gets too tired, before the pile of mutts builds up and he has to let go. Already his arms are fatigued, his wounds are stinging as sweat drips down into them, his lungs are aching from running with no warm up.

Sunlight pours into the street and Blaine hangs his head, pushing against the growing force of rats with all his might, trying in vain to bide time until he has to run again because _he just can't catch his breath-_

And then there isn't anything pushing back.

He gasps out as his head snaps back up. The rats seem to be- choking? Dying? They're almost shriveling in on themselves, those that can still move scampering away to chase the rapidly disappearing shadows.

Blaine furrows his eyebrows in confusion,watching as the creatures collapse against the door and to the pavement, suffocating in the sunlight-

_The sun. _

Blaine backs away from the doors, immediately knowing he's safe. The last of the rats twitches helplessly, and becomes still.

He heaves a breath of relief, collapsing to his knees. Deadly, nocturnal mutts. Well that'll be one more reason to look forward to nighttime.

He winces as he eases himself into a sitting position in the wasted lobby of what was once a grand building, scooting behind a crumbling receptionist's desk and braving his injuries. He cringes as he takes in the numerous cuts on his legs and arms. None seem too serious and there's no way to tell if he's been infected with some kind of disease, but he feels fine so far. However he does have a deeper gash on his upper arm and the hems of his cargo pants are in shreds.

Blaine rips off the straggling bits, wrapping them as tightly around his arm as he can manage with the awkward angle, and rolls up the pants. He thinks they almost look better as highwaters, showing off the boots and _why is he thinking about fashion at a time like this?_

He uses as little antiseptic as possible to spread over his surface wounds, but by the time he's done he only has half the bottle left. He prays he won't run into anymore rabid, animal-like creatures today.

He gets to his feet with little difficulty, feeling a bit achey but he categorizes that as a side-effect of exertion with no nutrition in his system. He needs food; fast.

Blaine shudders as he eases the double doors of the building open, trying his best to avert his gaze from the hulking mass of mutts at his feet. He continues his path down the street, keeping in the sunlight as much as possible. He knows he's more visible to other tributes like this but he's still a bit shaken from the rat attack, so he humors his irrationality and soldiers on.

Unable to contain himself, he decides to munch on a strip of dried mango to tide him over. He realizes a bit too late that maybe he should have tested to see if those rats were edible but he doubts it; the gamemakers wouldn't make it _that _easy. Animals that not only die in the sunshine but are edible as well? Too good to be true.

But Blaine doesn't see any animals around, humane or not. There's not a tribute in sight and there are no traces of food - or life - anywhere.

He comes to an enormous intersection that offers a break in the dense buildings. He's hesitant in entering it, keeping close to the wall of the building next to him. On the other side there are what seem to be giant, cylindrical, concrete honeycombs crumbling before his very eyes. Old-fashioned automobiles are parked in the openings, some falling out of the disintegrating structures with loud crashes on the ground. He hears a faint scream amidst the rumbling, then a crash, and he jumps at the sound of a cannon.

_So there _are _people around, _Blaine thinks, _they're just keeping to themselves, too. _

He shakes off the shock and savors his last bite of mango, continuing on his path to who-knows-where.

As soon as he enters the next intersection the sound of rushing water floods his ears, and he realizes that the intersection isn't one at all; it's a bridge crossing a over river.

The water is a deep blue, a grand contrast to its dried out surroundings. But this doesn't mean that it's good for drinking; Blaine hopes that his iodine will be enough to purify it when need be.

He takes a tentative sip from his own water bottle, the liquid warm but satisfying his need anyway.

Blaine debates what his next move should be. Move across the bridge and keep searching for food? Travel down along the river to look for shelter? And which way would get him closer to Kurt?

He decides, considering his state of fatigue, that staying put for a while couldn't hurt. His water and fruit could keep him surviving for a couple of days, so if he can manage to find peace until another night passes he figures it will do him good. It's not an easy decision, because knowing that Kurt could be _anywhere _in this maze itches at his bones and makes him fidgety. But his injuries need to heal, and he needs to conserve what energy he has.

Looking around, there are few buildings in which he can take shelter. But he remembers how the rats had been set loose from underground, and wonders if there's any way he can find shelter _above_ ground. Even with the risk of a cave in due to the deterioration of the buildings, at least he might be able to catch a few good hours of sleep.

Instead of looking around he looks up, scanning the roofs of the buildings. All of them are impossibly high except for the one he stands directly next to. He circles the perimeter of it, taking in the weathered driveway around it and the opening leading to an underground parking garage. He looks up, seeing how the structure is backed by a larger, taller building, and realizes that he's found the lobby of a hotel.

From what he can see through the cracked and blown out windows, though, there's pretty much no hope for a warm bed or room service.

His gaze travels all over the smaller building in front, looking for a way to the roof. There's a small gap between this building and the one neighboring it that he hasn't searched, and upon further inspection he finds (_hallelujah) _rungs on the side of the building leading up to the roof.

They don't seem incredibly sturdy, but they're solid enough to at least hold his weight, so he takes the chance.

He quickly scrambles up the ladder, wary of the rungs creaking in protest, but before they can give way he's stumbling onto the roof.

It's an open area, but the boundaries of it are high enough so that if he remains sitting, he'll be undetectable from the ground. He walks to the edge to take in the somewhat desolate view of the river and crumbling honeycombs of cars. He can't shake the feeling of being watched, and forces himself to blame it on the cameras planted in every crevice of the arena.

He slides down the wall and lets out a sigh of relief as his muscles relax. After marathon-worthy run this morning he'd be perfectly content to lay here until he's forced to leave.

And so that's what he does.

He snacks on dried fruit and water all day, not relieving his hunger but keeping it at bay. When he feels rested enough he decides to practice with his knife, and throws it again and again into nonthreatening cracks in the wall opposite him. By midafternoon he's beginning to actually hit near the cracks he aims for, and just as he reels his arm back to make what he's _sure _will be the winning throw, he hears voices.

Immediately Blaine ducks down behind the wall at the edge of the roof and listens, eyes widening when he hears the voices of the Careers below.

"... so fucking quiet, we haven't even killed anybody yet," grumbles the voice of Karofsky.

"The arena is big," an unfamiliar male voice (Jesse?) reasons. "The gamemakers are probably biding their time until they can flush us all together."

"Giving us a false sense of calm," his fellow tribute, Giselle, continues.

"Sucks about Sugar," someone who must be Santana says. Blaine can't help but think she doesn't sound very sincere at all.

"Whatever," Sebastian's smooth-as-silk voice lilts. "I thought she'd be useful for at least a day, but she got her neck snapped by that lumberjack like _that." _Blaine jumps slightly at the loud snap that accompanies his words.

There's a mumble of agreement among the group and Blaine seethes internally at Sebastian's dismissal over his partner's death. He knows that's how Careers are trained to think but something tells him that even if Sebastian wasn't a career, he'd say the same thing.

"What do you think about this water?" comes Giselle's voice from farther away; she must be leaning against the rail to look into the river.

"Probably okay, but we need shelter and food more than we need water," Jesse says.

"We should move on soon," Karofsky suggests, "It's dangerous to be out in the open."

Sebastian scoffs. "Dangerous for you; the rest of us didn't get our weapons stolen by a _hobbit."_

Blaine grumbles silently.

"He's right," Santana says. "But weapons or no weapons there's nothing here. Nothing _anywhere _because everyone's spread gamemakers know that and shits gonna go down soon, so we should be ready for that when it happens."

"Which means shelter and food," Jesse reiterates.

"Fine," Sebastian snaps. "Let's head out."

After a few moments Blaine peeks his head up to catch them walking across the bridge and into the maze of buildings on the other side.

He settles back to sitting position, thinking hard.

They're right, obviously. Nightly mutt attacks won't be enough to satisfy an audience; they want tribute against tribute battles, compelling ally stories, mass murders and intense individual kills. Something is going to happen, something big, and something soon.

But there's nothing Blaine can do now but wait. Munch on fruit, sip on water, and wait.

The sun sets, slowly giving way to pitch black night. Blaine looks around, taking in the nightlife: the only illumination is provided by dim, half-functional lamps lining the street. The buildings look eerier without the bright sunlight; broken windows like gaping holes and shadows lurking ominously.

He pulls out his jacket and huddles into it, feeling irrationally safer.

As silence presses in on his ears, he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>I know ending chapters whenever Blaine falls asleep is unorginal but God is it hard to end chapters in this story. Like I said before, Klaine in the next chapter, but not after shit goes down :)<em>


	7. Abyssus incendia

_And because Raven is such a generous woman, she will give you Klaine in every chapter from here on out. :) Also I'm hoping updates will come sooner since this is my last week of school :D Read, review, and enjoy._

* * *

><p>As soon as he wakes up a few hours later he forgets his dream, but knows that what woke him was a familiar, musty and tangy smell.<p>

His eyes blink confusedly open and the smell overtakes his nose, growing stronger and stronger with every inhale and he brings the fabric of his cotton tank over his nose to serve as a filter. The sound of water furiously rushing by fills his ears, and Blaine figures that the river is rising. But why, and how, and the smell is everywhere-

A spike of fear punches through Blaine.

_Gasoline. _

He gets hastily to his feet, pack already swinging onto his back, and scans the river as best he can in the night's darkness. The river has been drained, and through the sewage holes lining its walls pours a clear liquid that's _definitely _not water. Blaine is scrambling to make the connection, trying to think fast but the smell is _everywhere _and his brain is _muddled _with it.

His answer is bestowed upon him soon enough, though, when the gasoline begins to level off and bright orange flickers down the river on both sides.

It finally clicks, and Blaine realizes he has little to no time to act.

The gasoline threatens to spill over to his side of the street just as he climbs down the ladder and hops to the ground. The fire is quickly roaring down both sides of the river, well on its way to colliding in the middle and burning the bridge to the other side.

Blaine gives out a yell as the manhole next to where he stands rumbles threateningly, and stumbles away just as it topples open to reveal several disoriented, poisonous-looking snake-like creatures slithering onto the asphalt.

"Jesus fuck," Blaine mutters under his breath as he backs away, but one quick glance up and down the street tells him that this side of the street will soon be infested with the deadly, bloodthirsty mutts.

The gasoline spills over onto the street, and in the distance Blaine hears screams echoing on both sides, one cannon and then another firing in quick succession. Footsteps begin to rumble towards him on either side of the street, and Blaine realizes that he's situated himself right in the middle of what's soon to be another bloodbath.

In a split second, he considers his choices.

One: stay where he is and get either shred to bits by the snakes advancing upon him, stabbed to death by a panicked tribute, or go up in flames once they catch up with the spilt gasoline.

Two: run across the bridge and risk not making it across before the flames reach him and if he does, outrun the flame.

Well the second option at least doesn't include venomous snakes, so he decides to pursue that one.

He _sprints, _running across the bridge and already feeling the heat from where the walls of fire are closing in. There are footsteps behind him, letting him know that he's not the only one who's chosen this plan of action but he can't think about that right now.

Hissing and screaming and roaring fill Blaine to the brim, pushing him faster as the heat closes in on him. Flames flicker in his peripheral vision now and he's so close, so _close-_

The bridge, already somewhat unstable from years of disuse, groans as the flames push in and Blaine finally hits the other side. But he's far from safe; gasoline still splashes under every stride he takes. More screams from the bridge, and moments later one more cannon. That's five since this morning, he thinks somewhere far off in his head, pushing down the panic that comes with the thought that _one of those might have been Kurt_.

Heat is closing in on him fast, and he knows the fire is on his heels but he doesn't dare look back lest he trip and fall. Gasoline is splattering onto his pants and his still-healing cuts are screaming with pain but his survival instincts are kicking in, adrenaline easing the agony as he pushes harder.

Screams and hissing are long gone, leaving only the uncontrollable roar of the fire. Blaine doesn't know how long he can keep this up, is again feeling helpless and alone against an unstoppable force, and is about to give into his fatigue with a cry of defeat when rain starts hammering down from the sky.

"Oh God," Blaine huffs in relief, catching the end of a rusted fire escape and heaving himself up onto the ladder and holding himself there, watching as the flames attempt in vain to counter the rain.

Blaine climbs up higher on the ladder to the platform of the fire escape, watching as tributes run this way and that. He looks beyond to where the bridge used to be and immediately knows the motivation behind the fire and snakes; anyone remaining on the other side of the bridge is now dead, whether it be by flame or snake bite, and since the bridge is gone, only half the arena is free range. The gamemakers have successfully corralled what's left of them into a smaller, concentrated space.

Rain pours down, drenching Blaine to the core and soothing his various scratches. He collapses onto his back and opens his mouth, gladly drinking in the fresh water. When he's had his fill he fishes out his water bottle from the pack and twists it open, letting it fill and overflow with cool, fresh water. Through the sound and haze of pouring rain the Panem anthem plays and the faces of dead tributes for the day flash across the sky.

Sunshine, whose machete he stole at the cornucopia. The other dark-skinned, handsome District 3 tribute, David. Blaine's heart throbs painfully as he sees Tina's face, and he takes a deep breath to push imaginations of her death aside.

Sam from 7, who snapped Sugar's neck. Gigantic Lauren from 9, and Brittany from 11.

The light in the sky fades out as the rain subsides, and Blaine lets out a shaky breath. Now reassured that Kurt is miraculously still alive, he lets the simmering smell of smoke lull him back to sleep on the fire escape.

* * *

><p>For the first time in the past few days Blaine wakes up on his own, and with no instinctual fight-or-flight hormones rushing through his system. Bright sunlight taints the back of his eyelids red, and he groans and rolls over to his side, hissing in pain when he realizes that's his bad arm. To his slight irritation there's a soft, persistent beeping somewhere nearby, but he blocks it out as best as he can.<p>

Sleeping on a grid of iron all night probably wasn't a good idea, because when he eases himself up to sitting position he feels well-rested, but with cricks in at least five different parts of his body.

And very, very, _very _hungry.

God, where is that beeping coming from? Blaine scrubs at his face with both hands, cringing when they come away black with ash from last night's fire. He wipes them carelessly on his pants, and can't help but fidget in how filthy he feels. He lets out a small, frustrated cry; he's feeling hurt and achey and famished and _hopeless. _He has no clue what to do now, doesn't _want _to do anything, just wants to sit and wait for nourishment to come to him, or Kurt, or death, whatever comes first. He lets out a humorless laugh when he realizes that he would much, _much _rather be sitting through yet another dinner party than be where he is right now.

He bangs on the rusty iron weakly with a fist, ready to give up, and then tilts his head back against the wall of the building.

"Help," he whispers, fighting the tears stinging behind his eyes.

And that's when he looks up.

Immediately he sees the source of the beeping; a parachute has landed on the platform of the fire escape above the one he sits on now.

Spirits immediately lightened, Blaine whips his head around, making sure that this gift is undoubtedly for him, before mustering the energy to get to his feet. He hoists himself up the ladder and spread-eagles on his stomach on the platform, screwing open the capsule and letting out a hysterical laugh of relief.

A roll of bread, a container of broth to dip it in, and an apple. Blaine reads the note accompanying the meals.

'_Keep fighting chick-a-dee! -April.'_

He forces himself to savor the meal, eating the whole broth-soaked roll but leaving the rest of the soup for later. He crunches the apple slowly, letting himself eat the whole thing since he has a few pieces of dried fruit left.

He takes out his water bottle to wash it all down, but nearly chokes in surprise when he spots movement in the corner of his eye.

The figure is rounding the corner of a building across the street, keeping to the early morning shadows and moving fast, but carefully.

Blaine quickly ducks as close to the building as he can, hoping the shadows will do a good job of concealing him, but the tribute hasn't seemed to notice him. In fact, if Blaine didn't know any better...

His heart gives a wild thump in his chest.

Sunlight illuminates Kurt as he jumps from one building to the next. He looks a bit beat up - he too is covered in a thin layer of ash, and has a few scuffs and scratches here and there - but by the stealthy way he's moving Blaine can tell his vitals are still in good shape.

Before Kurt can get too far, Blaine quietly climbs down the fire escape and follows.

He makes sure to keep a good distance between them, deciding that now wouldn't be the best time to reveal himself. He doesn't know if he should even reveal himself at all, if Kurt would trust him, or if he should just keep watch from a distance, fending off enemies until he's positive they're the final two in the competition.

So he doesn't exactly have a plan, but he _does _know that Kurt seems to know where he's going, so he must have a destination in mind.

He follows Kurt for several blocks until they get to a large intersection. The lithe boy darts into a building at one of the corners, and Blaine hesitates a minute or two before deciding to go in after him.

The place has a low ceiling with an abandoned counter at the entrance, and is lined with rows of shelves carrying various items layered in dust. It's large, and Kurt is nowhere to be seen. He begins to quietly examine each aisle.

As quietly as he can, he picks up the nearest can and brushes off the dust.

It's a label he doesn't recognize but it's _definitely _food, and when he shakes it it seems stubbornly solid. It must have expired long ago.

Blaine frowns and moves along down another aisle and picks up can after box after bottle coming to the conclusion that he's in what must have once been a grocery store. None of the food items seem even remotely edible though, being either way past expiration or practically fossilized. Why in the world would Kurt waste his time _here?_

And then, as if on cue, he spots a small flash of color a few rows behind in a section of boxes a foot above him.

He looks around. Still no sign of Kurt, but he hears some shuffling in the back of the store so he must still be in the building. He places his pack quietly on the floor to use as a step-stool, and reaches, shifts a box a little to move it out of the way-

"I knew it!" Kurt calls out from down the aisle.

And then Blaine goes toppling to the floor, a pile of boxes following in his wake.

He struggles to free himself from the dusty cardboard and spots the red box; he reaches for it eagerly just as Kurt's boots enter his vision.

"I knew someone was following me," Kurt continues breathlessly. "Drop your weapon and show yourself!"

Blaine emerges from the pile of boxes, clutching the red box. He can't help but blurt out, "I don't think I'll be doing much damage with a box of-" he checks the label- "Crackers."

He doesn't miss the way Kurt lowers his bow and arrow (when had he gotten _those?) _a fraction before straightening out again.

"Anderson," he sneers, and even with venom laced in it, his last name name sounds glorious on Kurt's tongue. "Thought you could have in on my food source if you finished me off, huh?"

Blaine thinks he sees something in Kurt's eyes begging him to prove him wrong. It's probably imagination, but Blaine succumbs to it anyway.

"N-no, I don't-"

But Kurt doesn't let him finish. "Well you thought wrong. I've got the last of the food in here-" he gestures to the small pack over his shoulder- "And an arrow pointed straight at your head. S-so I've got the upper hand."

Blaine doesn't miss the way Kurt stutters, giving away his fear and cracking his mask of confidence. He drops the crackers and stands slowly, both hands raised above his head. To his surprise, Kurt's grip on the bow loosens a bit.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says as convincingly as possible.

Kurt raises a single eyebrow.

"I'm so sure," he drawls.

"Listen," Blaine says, choosing his words carefully. "I know what we said in the elevator two nights ago doesn't matter. But... it does. To me. And I know it shouldn't but I want it to. I - " Blaine throws his hands up but lets them flop down when his cut stings painfully. "You're the only person I've even talked to other than my prep team and mentor and chaperone and Tina- and even _Tina _stopped talking to me and now she's d - d - God, I don't want to kill you, Kurt." _I want to protect you. _

Kurt's eyes soften considerably, and a few moments later he lets his hands drop to his sides helplessly. "God," he whines, "You're so _stupid."_

"I- what?" Blaine asks, confused.

"You can't just - this is _life and death, _Blaine. You can't just throw your entire heart into a speech like that and expect people to go easy on you."

_I threw my entire heart into you, _Blaine thinks, but says instead: "Are _you_ going to go easy on me?"

Kurt's mouth hardens into a line as he levels his gaze with Blaine's.

"So you were looking for me?" he finally says, avoiding the question entirely.

"Yeah," Blaine sighs before he can stop himself. It's true, after all.

Silence stretches until Kurt breaks it again. "I'm not allowed to form alliances."

"Please, Kurt," Blaine whispers brokenly. He's so close to being exactly where he needs to be that he's grasping at straws, desperate to convince Kurt to let him stick around. He thinks back to a few days ago, straining to keep the doors closed against the rats ramming against the door. He thinks back to last night, running endlessly from the fire, and feels a small prickle of panic rush through his veins. "I - I don't - I think - I can't do this. Alone."

"Why me?" Kurt whispers back.

"Because your favorite color is violet," Blaine blurts. Kurt is taken aback by the statement, and Blaine holds out his hand.

"Allies?"

Kurt debates for a moment, eyes flicking suspiciously between Blaine's eyes and his hand, before taking both bow and arrow in one hand and taking the outstretched hand.

It's barely a shake before Kurt drops his hand again, and Blaine is puzzled by its roughness but is awestruck all the same at his touch.

"Okay," Kurt says.

"Okay," Blaine smiles.

They shift a little on their feet, unsure of what to do next, until Blaine leans down to pick up his pack.

"So... where to?"

Kurt shakes his head a little, brown bangs flopping into his face. Blaine tries in vain to swallow down his heart that's jumped up into his throat.

"I um- I have a place. That I found yesterday, that I think will be really good for shelter. We can go there and... talk? I guess? Figure out what provisions we have and what we need?"

"Great," Blaine says. "Where is it?"

Kurt smiles softly and points up to the ceiling. "Old apartments above the store."

"That seems convenient," Blaine says skeptically.

"There's a catch," Kurt affirms. Blaine cocks his head curiously, so Kurt stakes a deep breath before continuing:

"The Careers are living across the street."

* * *

><p><em>Wow I managed to end it on something other than Blaine falling asleep. <em>


End file.
